


Wardwell and Sons Plumbing, Heating, and Air

by FrenchTwistResistance



Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [23]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I just want caos to be a sitcom where hot middle-aged ladies kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26538739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchTwistResistance/pseuds/FrenchTwistResistance
Summary: The coven attempts to regain power. Hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith, Hilda Spellman/Original Mary Wardwell, Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman
Series: I’ve Always Been Crazy But It’s Kept Me from Going Insane [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597594
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Wardwell and Sons Plumbing, Heating, and Air

Lilith has left to oversee Nicholas Scratch’s body to assess it for changes as the ritual proceeds and has been accompanied by Ambrose and the Weird Sisters to ensure that she won’t pull any double-agent nonsense.

All the coffins in the showroom floor—the unaffiliated witches who had been getting acquainted in the reception room are now engaging in physical labor—are being scooted against the walls, and some big weird rocks are being moved in in a circle in the center of the room. It’s ten to twelve, and there really isn’t much time for Hilda to question what all this is or process any of the other tidbits Zelda’s been slipping her off-handedly as they’ve been preparing the space.

A glib, “Apparently you’re not the only Spellman who knows how to manipulate, deceive, and keep secrets. Edward and what’s-her-face had plenty of experience in those departments, it seems.”

A disconcertingly disheartened, “To think I devoted so much of my life to such a misogynistic, pedophilic monster.”

A lascivious, “I was right about Miss Kingston’s religious affiliation, but I’m happy to have been wrong about her having only show muscles. She can come move caskets around any time. Those triceps!”

A snide, “If you can ever fit me in your busy schedule of one thousand hobbies, fucking every teacher at Baxter High, and writing erotica about fucking every teacher at Baxter High while engaging in your one thousand hobbies, we really need to talk about boring things like our family.”

A smug, “Do you remember how you used to say to me, ‘You've gone for quantity while I’ve gone for quality.’? How the tables have turned.” And as they’re maneuvering a particularly cumbersome and ornate spruce casket, Hilda watches Zelda’s gaze land on a woman Hilda’s never seen before—striking, alluringly sweaty from the labor of hauling one of those big weird rocks, and with arms to rival Miss Kingston’s. Hilda’s torn between wanting to be offended at the erroneous implication that she’s involved with anyone but Lilith and wanting to high five Zelda. Of course, she doesn’t know anything about this person except that she’s extremely attractive and willing to help them in this absurd endeavor, which are unfortunately more positive attributes than she had ever assigned Faustus Blackwood, who really probably fits Zelda’s “bag of dicks in a t-shirt and tennis shoes” description better than Lilith ever did—although that dandy bastard wouldn’t be caught dead in casual clothing. Oh, and that’s another thing:

A furtive and disdain-filled, “Sabrina and I may have a plan for my husband.”

Ambrose and Prudence had tracked him down and know exactly how to capture him but haven’t done so just yet as they couldn’t decide whether to simply execute him or let him have a fair trial in the court of… whatever their coven was these days. They had been monitoring him via the surveillance mirrors they had installed surreptitiously, ready to extract the twins at any instance of abuse. But so far, he had been lying low in the Scottish highlands dicking around with a stupid beard, tending sheep, and actually being a pretty decent dad to infants. It’s up in the air currently—another headache that needs to be dealt with, but the triage tent is so full.

Everything’s in place, and everyone’s assembling in the formation Hilda guesses they’ve all already agreed to. She’s at the doorway to the showroom with Mary and Miss Kingston.

“I don’t know whether you want me to stay for this, but I’ve already called the school office and left a message that Miss Wardwell and Sabrina and I won’t be in tomorrow regardless,” Miss Kingston says.

“Thank you,” Hilda says. “I appreciate all you’ve done for us, and I’m sorry to have dragged you into all this.”

Mary rolls her eyes, says,

“You’re sorry to have dragged her into all this?”

“The English language never should’ve gotten rid of second-person-singular thee, thou, and thine. We could avoid so much confusion and hurt feelings that way,” Hilda says. Mary laughs, says,

“Or maybe we should all get on Miss Kingston’s level and embrace ‘y’all.’”

“An admirable linguistic goal, but. Y’all would sound goofy saying it,” Miss Kingston says.

They all mill around for a second with their hands in their pockets, and then Miss Kingston pierces Hilda with her eyes, says,

“I know I probably shouldn’t be messing around with darkness and demons and sorcery and all that, but you’ve always been so kind to me, and really if we’re looking at this objectively, Satan is our common enemy, and if he succeeds in regaining his power, that’s bad news for everybody across the board. So... hmm… What about a good, old-fashioned exorcism?”

Hilda doesn’t want to get into that whole thing with mere minutes at her disposal before this upcoming ritual, so she condenses it as best she can:

“That’s a can of worms we’ve opened and found to be more worms than is manageable.”

“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but surely if you and your ilk were involved it was—” Miss Kingston pauses, and Hilda knows she’s searching for the right words that won’t be offensive. “—some kind of infighting or show of dominance rather than a true exorcism.”

Hilda can’t dispute that exactly, waits for Miss Kingston to continue her thought, which she does after another pause:

“I love a good pipe organ, and my options for experiencing it first hand being played skillfully are limited. When I first moved here and was church shopping, I immediately noticed that the Presbyterian Church in town has the better instrument, but the Catholic Church in town has the better instrumentalist. So I go to Immaculate Heart once in a while to indulge myself. And every time I’ve visited at an 8am mass on a Sunday morning, I’ve seen Miss Wardwell there.” She looks then at Mary. Mary shrugs, says,

“Guilty as charged.”

“So,” Miss Kingston says, “If this plan doesn’t work, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have us try some laying on of hands and ‘get thee hence, Satan’ stuff. If we’re cagey enough about the circumstances, we might even be able to rope in a few of the more out-there gals from my congregation.”

“I’m amenable,” Hilda says, “but I’m not sure how Zelda would feel about it. We’d have to broach the subject very strategically.”

The lights go out as a few candles are lit. It’s time.

“Could—y’all—stick around for a while? Until this shakes out?” Hilda says.

“I’m certainly not going to walk home, and Xena Warrior Princess is obviously in it for the long haul. So yeah, we’ll be sticking around,” Mary says. Hilda looks at Miss Kingston, and the woman does not appear to be bothered by the late hour or the supernatural things she’s seen and heard about or the nickname Mary’s given her—her face is placid and neutral, and she says,

“We’ll wait in the office until you give us the go-ahead to leave.”

“No magazines to entertain us, but plenty of foreign-language newspapers. I’ve been wanting to brush up on my Latvian,” Mary says.

Hilda blushes, and Miss Kingston’s brow furrows. Mary looks at Miss Kingston, blanches, says,

“Oh. Fuck and a half. You know less than I do.”

Mary and Miss Kingston lock eyes. The candles flicker, and Hilda hears Zelda clear her throat. Mary makes a shooing motion with her hand toward Hilda and then grabs Miss Kingston by the elbow to lead her away.

Hilda takes her place between Zelda and Sabrina. They’re all holding hands and chanting.

She listens at first: it’s all Latin quattros, and she—she’s pretty sure it’s a hangover by now—internally trips over the grammar and pronunciation and then sorts and quantities and qualifies until she’s able to join in verbally.

In the very center of the circle, there’s now a blue flame, growing incrementally. It shades green and then yellow and then green again and then back to blue and bigger, bigger. It’s not a consuming flame. It doesn’t destroy the carpet. It’s a supernatural flame that reflects all their shared power, burns hot and bright and strange. Hilda looks into the flame, sees herself looking back.

A pop, a hiss. Hilda’s not sure if these sounds are regular or expected. But then. One of the big weird rocks topples over, and behind it a concealed door flaps open. The blue flame is extinguished as a gush of water exits the door and streams out.

Hilda had taken a break from being a Spellman in the first half of the twentieth century, and during that time she’d drifted around to different odd jobs. She’d been on a custom-cutting crew for a while, driving a combine ten hours a day. Her only human contact had been via CB radio, and she’d obviously and stupidly fallen in love with the woman at the other end of the transmissions. When they’d finally met up in person and had made out and fondled each other against a grain bin, Hilda had inadvertently splayed her hands and brushed her fingers against the shorted out power plug for the auger.

Sex—or other good things—can be an electric jolt in a certain metaphorical way. But an actual electric jolt is pretty horrible. It’s all zip and heat and hurt and residual fizz.

When a big weird rock falls over and there’s suddenly a half inch of water at everyone’s feet, there’s the kind of electric jolt that is sucky and bad.

The circle of unaffiliated witches dissipates. Everyone’s jumping away. Some are teleporting; some are balking but curious. But regardless of impetus, the chain is broken. And because the chain is broken, there’s no power here. They have not achieved their goal.

Zelda is exasperated, exhausted. She says,

“Fuck it. Everyone go home. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

She stands there for another moment, the imperious High Priestess, so elegant and regal and commanding. The room clears as each witch accepts Zelda’s words and exits. 

When it’s down to people she knows personally unwilling to abandon her in her hour of need, Zelda slumps onto the floor, buries her face in her hands. Hilda crouches next to her, places a palm on Zelda’s shoulder. 

“We’ll figure something out, love,” Hilda says.

“And if we don’t, you looked good as an old lady,” Sabrina says, attempting levity.

Hilda turns her head to smile at her niece, but she gets distracted at what’s happening behind her: Mary’s got a pipe wrench and is issuing instructions to a little group gathered around her:

“I’ve already got the gas and water shut off to the appliance, but it’d be safer if everything were off entirely. Probably put on a pot of coffee first—I’d say tea to calm everybody down, but I figure a house this old has a gas stove. Kingston, you’re on getting ahold of the gas company. I’m sorry, I don’t know any of your names, but—” She addresses Zelda’s mystery girlfriend, “Could you find the main water valve, please?” And then to Melvin, “Start the clean-up?” And finally to Zelda Newtfoot of Ponca City, Oklahoma, just slightly flirtatiously, “And you look like the kind of woman who’s made her fair share of midnight coffee.” Hilda cannot see the reaction to this, but she’s reasonably certain the Zelda Newtfoot of Ponca City, Oklahoma, she used to know would’ve winked, maybe followed it up with a blown kiss. The small team disperses to begin their assigned duties, and Mary’s squeezing into the closet to tinker with the water heater that has ruined their evening.

Sabrina and Zelda have joined Hilda in eavesdropping. Zelda says,

“At least all the Baxter High teachers you’re fucking possess useful skills.”

Sabrina says,

“Auntie H does certainly have a type.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I was reading through some summaries to figure out what went wrong with that witch circle that prematurely nullified its effects (My brain: “Was there an explosion of some kind…?”) and realized I remembered even less about season 3’s plot than I had previously thought. So. Whoops.  
> 2\. I had originally intended this series to be loosely interconnected vignettes about Lilith and Hilda banging, but it’s accidentally turned into an alternate season 3 (My brain: “I dislike all the plot points in season 3 equally.” Cut to my brain, earlier that day, with a brain martini in her brain hand: “I particularly dislike the Pagan thing.”). So, especially with this newest addition that pretty much is completely off the rails au, the whole thing should actually just be one long story, but I’m not gonna reformat.  
> 3\. I could not remember Sabrina’s mom’s name and put in “what’s-her-face” as a placeholder but then liked it as a nod to Endora from Bewitched, who was an early and formative crush of mine.  
> 4\. I’ve been wanting to write Mambo Marie into this series for ages, and I Finally did it!  
> 5\. Remember in Rizzoli and Isles how Jane’s dad is a plumber and has a plumbing business called Rizzoli and Sons, but actually none of his children work with him, and also the only one who’s competent at plumbing is his daughter? That’s what the title’s about.


End file.
